


Ice

by secretlyHipster



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlyHipster/pseuds/secretlyHipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m feeding you my tongue, and you don’t move an inch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> For Ariel. I don't really know you too well yet, but here's to a possible friendship!

Being dead—it’s like being asleep. 

Your vision is eternally blurred, your muscles numbed and cold like your mentality’s been placed inside an ice sculpture instead of a slab of meat and blood and heat and life. Those hands typing some unattached phrase just inside your field of vision—they’re not yours, even though they’re attached to you. They’re just heavy extensions of your not-misery with lives and minds of their own. 

Don’t even get me started on the emotional half. 

You can’t feel or express anything but nothing and more and more nothing. It makes you want to be frustrated, not being able to tell your best friend how much you love him (or used to, before your lifedeath) but you can’t be frustrated because that’s an emotion. You know you should be miserable and hatefulbitterangry, but the emotion won’t swell, no matter how many times you try and glare at yourself in the mirror.

Like I said—you’re an ice sculpture. A perfect copy of yourself on the outside, but dead and cold and unfeeling in every other way. 

And that’s why I’m crying.

I’m looking you in the eyes and crying like a grub. 

I’m not even sure if you can see me. I’m not really sure of anything about you, other than that it’s tragic how much I love you. Have always loved you. Became who I am because of that flush, and hoped against everything that once I was alive again, I could finally tell you. 

It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth knowing that fate and irony are off somewhere having a tea party while I’m here falling apart.

I kiss you now, my tears and maroon lipstick slick between our lips. You don’t pull away, but you don’t kiss back either and that’s what makes me bring both my hands to your face, kiss you deeper and harder like it’s the last chance I’ll get. 

I’m feeding you my tongue, and you don’t move an inch. 

Death is the worst feeling in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to be a lot longer, but I think it's more impactful like this. You know? :P


End file.
